


Some Small Town, One Different Summer

by irisbleufic



Category: Toy Soldiers (1991)
Genre: Boarding School, Canon Character of Color, Inspired by Poetry, M/M, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Teenagers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-25
Updated: 2007-12-25
Packaged: 2018-01-01 21:34:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1048818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irisbleufic/pseuds/irisbleufic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The title is a reference to John Ashbery's <b><a href="http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/15825"><i>Syringa</i></a></b>. If you're a fan of modern poetry steeped in myth, then I suggest you check it out. This story, on the other hand, has little to do with poetry or mythology.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Some Small Town, One Different Summer

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Strippedhalo in the 2007 Yuletide Challenge.

**SEPTEMBER**  
  
How Joey had gotten to that point —watching Snuffy suck face behind the courthouse with some chick they'd picked up at Mara's Deli—he couldn't rightly say. What he _could_ say, if it weren't so goddamned rude, was that it wasn't the highlight of his romantic career. It wasn't even the highlight of Snuffy's, judging by the way he flinched every time the girl —Lily, Ellie, Milly, whatever the fuck she'd chirped when Joey had asked for her name—stuck her tongue down his throat.  
  
"I think," Snuffy said between kisses, "we should— _um_ —get out of here. It's getting late." He cast Joey a pointed glance over Lily/Ellie/Milly's shoulder, splaying his hands at the small of her back in the universal sign for _Get me the hell out of this!_  
  
"I think _I_ should get out of here," said Joey, shoving his hands in his pockets and averting his eyes once more. "You two seem to have a good thing going, you know?"  
  
Briefly, Snuffy looked like he wanted to punch somebody, but before he could say anything, what's-her-face turned around and pouted at Joey.  
  
"I thought you were going to take _turns_ ," she suggested coyly, narrowing her hazel-green eyes. All Joey could think, now he could see her up close, was that her roots were showing. Why the fuck did so many brunettes think blonde was their color?  
  
"Nah," Joey replied, offering her his finest how-about-a-rain-check grin. "That wouldn't be cool of me. Besides, Snuff here's the one who's been complaining about how hard it is at Regis to get laid."  
  
Snuffy's hands were fisted at his sides, and he looked fit to burst. _Classic_.  
  
"Whatever, douchebag," he muttered under his breath, then added, raising his voice, "Yeah, as I was saying —rules are rules, and Parker's pretty strict about enforcing curfew. It's been nice getting to know you, Kelly."  
  
_Kelly, right_. "Yeah," Joey added, hastily, holding out his hand for her to shake. "Nice meeting you."  
  
She took it, glancing after Snuffy, who'd already begun to walk away.  
  
"It's a shame, really," Kelly said in a low voice. "Looks like I jumped the wrong guy."  
  
"Yeah, um, whatever," Joey said, jerking his hand away. "See you around!"  
  
"Can I at least have another smoke?" Kelly shouted after them, but Joey didn't dare turn back.  
  
By the time he caught up with Snuffy, they were already on the long sidewalk that lined most of the main drag leading from the center of town out to the front gates of Regis. Joey wanted nothing worse than to trip him, scuff up that smug face a bit, but Snuffy rarely wore shoes with laces. Fucking stupid penny-loafers.  
  
"Don't you _ever_ wear socks?" snapped Joey, irritated. Not his finest moment where conversational relevance was concerned, but he needed to say _something_.  
  
"Nope," Snuffy said, flicking some ash in Joey's general direction. "Why didn't you go back and give her one of your cloves? Sounds like she was interested."  
  
"Yeah, but _I_ wasn't," Joey said. "I think you put her off with that suck-ass filter you handed her back at the deli."  
  
"Hey, at least I'm health-conscious," Snuffy chortled, clapping Joey on the back.  
  
"At least _I'm_ a gentleman," Joey shot back, slinging his arm across Snuffy's shoulders. He'd never been easily physical with any of his friends, and he'd long doubted he was simply incapable of that palling-around bullshit that seemed to be a prerequisite of true guyhood. He'd met Snuffy a year and a half ago, when he first got to Regis, and they'd been pretty tight ever since. They were first-semester sophomores now. Jesus, where did the time go?  
  
"Penny for your thoughts?" Snuffy asked, dropping his cigarette in the gutter.  
  
"I'm getting too old for this shit," said Joey, grinning, and released him with a shove.  
  


* * *

  
  
By sixth period, the news was all over: a new guy had arrived that morning, some loser by the name of Billy something-or-other. Joey rubbed his ear where Snuffy had inadvertently spit on it, trying to focus on his Advanced Algebra assignment. To his left, Hank was leaning well into the aisle so he could hear what Snuffy was saying.  
  
"He's either from Connecticut or New York."  
  
"Get your facts straight, asshole," Hank hissed. "Which is it?"  
  
"I don't know!" Snuffy said, a bit too loudly. Mr. Oger, who was overseeing today's study hall, shot them his signature warning-glance. "I heard both."  
  
"Would you guys shut up?" Joey breathed, looking up just long enough to glance at them one after the other. "We'll find out soon enough. What year is he?"  
  
"Sophomore," Snuffy said firmly. "Like us."  
  
"Well, fine. He'll be in most of our classes once he's settled in."  
  
"If he survives all that placement-testing shit," muttered Hank, darkly. "Well, at least he isn't gonna encroach on our territory. D.C., represent!"  
  
While Snuffy and Hank exchanged some cryptic handshake or another over Joey's head, the telephone on the wall started to ring. Mr. Oger got up and rushed, comically, to answer it. "He—hello?" he stammered into the receiver, winded.  
  
Ricardo Montoya was doing his level best to get Joey's attention from three seats ahead. Joey looked up from his work, raising his eyebrows.  
  
"What the hell's going on back there?" mouthed Ric.  
  
Joey put his index finger to his lips, turning to watch Oger at the phone.  
  
"Really? Yes, yes, no, not at, ah, all—yes, I had, ah, heard about that. Already? Is that so? Well, yes, there are only about fifteen, ah, in this room, I suppose I could—"  
  
"What do you know," Joey whispered, turning to Snuffy. "Looks like we're about to find out.  
  
Ric shot Joey another look, this one sort of worried. "What the fuck?"  
  
Joey just rolled his eyes and got back to work, but he had to admit, it was difficult to concentrate when the prospect of something—some _one —_new and diverting was imminent on the horizon. Either the guy would be a total bust, a completely boring waste of time, or he'd make a fantastic archenemy. That was always the way of things: either the person was totally flat, or he was a total dickwad. Snuffy, Hank, Ric, and Phil had been exceptions, except where the part where Snuffy was also occasionally a dickwad. Joey squinted at the equation he'd been cracking, trying to ignore the continued whispering between Snuffy and Hank.  
  
"...and anyway, it doesn't matter. We're getting a firsthand glimpse at the goods."  
  
"Goods? Is this a guy or a piece of meat?"  
  
"Depends," Snuffy said. "Maybe both."  
  
Joey finally snapped. "Okay, if you two don't shut the _fuck —_"  
  
Just then, the door swung open. Dean Parker walked in, followed by—Billy. It had sounded just enough like Lily/Ellie/Milly for Joey to remember. The guy was staring straight ahead, mostly at Parker's blue-shirted back. When Parker came to a stop next to Oger's desk, Billy came to a stop about three feet behind him, finally turning to take in the classroom. Joey looked him straight in the eyes, and Billy looked back. Hazel-green, just Snuffy's luck. Maybe the two of them had a future together. Joey smirked and shook his head, returning to his math. When Parker started to talk, he didn't look up.  
  
"Gentlemen, as most of you have probably already heard, this is William Tepper, and—"  
  
"Billy," said Billy, and it was the sound of his voice that made Joey look up. Billy was looking straight at him, as if he'd noticed Joey because of the movement he'd made, or maybe because he'd never looked away. It was hard to tell. Joey remained at attention, his eyes on Billy instead of Parker. _Well, then —if you want some kind of staring-contest alpha male showdown, I'm all yours_.  
  
"—he prefers to go by Billy," continued Parker, hardly missing a beat. "Normally, we don't take on new students once the semester's already started, but, in this case, we've made an exception. Please do your best to make Billy feel welcome. As you were."  
  
Parker wasn't above sarcasm, which was why Joey kind of liked the guy. Billy finally broke their staring contest to stare after Parker on his way out of the room, and Billy's casual, unimpressed glance suggested that he already had it in for the guy. Joey wondered why. He didn't sense anything inherently malicious in Billy. If anything, he sensed standoffishness and mischievousness, both of which could be admirable qualities in the right doses. When the door snapped shut, Billy's eyes drifted back to Joey's.  
  
"You, ah, heard the Dean," Oger was saying, on his feet behind the desk. "Mr. Tepper, there's a free seat back there behind, ah, Mr. Trotta. Joey, would you be so kind as to, ah, raise your hand?"  
  
Joey did, and waved it casually. Billy's cautious expression melted into a not-quite-smile.  
  
"Take your seat, Mr. Tepper. There are, ah, only twelve minutes left to the period. You may talk quietly amongst yourselves as, ah, I've noticed that the, ah, Force of Concentration isn't so strong with you today."  
  
"So," Billy said, slowing down as he reached Joey's desk. He put one palm down flat on Joey's algebra assignment, leaning close. "You're the legendary Mr. Trotta?"  
  
Joey scooted back as far as his chair would take him, hitting the empty desk. "Yeah," he said, "but you got the legendary part wrong. I'm Joey." He extended his hand, hoping Billy would take the cue and get the hell off his homework.  
  
Billy stood up straight, glancing at Joey's left hand for a few seconds before taking it, awkwardly, in his own left hand. "I'd say the Devil is pretty legendary," quipped Billy, shaking Joey's hand. There was nothing stiff or awkward in his grasp, which took Joey completely off guard. Usually, he could tell right away he'd got a cold fish. Billy wasn't.  
  
"Yeah, well, some of us survived Catholic school without bruised knuckles," Joey replied, tentatively smiling. Billy returned it, and that was that. Done deal. This guy wasn't a loser; he was going to turn out to be decent, or maybe better. Joey let go of Billy's hand and turned to Snuffy, gesturing. "Billy, this is Jonathan Bradberry. If you really wanna get on his nerves, call him Snuffy like the rest of us do."  
  
Snuffy smirked, unimpressed, but he shook Billy's hand anyway. "Charmed, I'm sure."  
  
"I'm Hank," said Hank, grabbing Billy's free hand in a brief, random grip. " _Just_ Hank."  
  
"He's lying," Snuffy said, getting up from his chair and perching on the edge of his desk. "That's Henry Giles III. Accept no substitutes!"  
  
"You're an asshole," Hank said, folding his arms across his chest.  
  
Joey tried his best not to laugh, and Billy met his eyes again, instantly conspiratorial. Wow, _what_ was going on? Had they slipped into some alternate universe where Joey Trotta instantaneously made friends? Even getting to know Snuffy and Hank hadn't been _that_ easy. Snuffy, he'd had some passive-aggressive verbal go-rounds with, and Hank, well, they'd almost flattened each other on the soccer field before they realized they had more in common than they _didn't_. Phil, he'd gotten to know through Ric, because those two had been roommates the year before, and probably still were.  
  
"And you need to find some new insults," said Snuffy, sweetly, batting his eyelashes.  
  
"Cut the flirting, Snuff," Ric said, coming up behind Billy. "Aren't you going to introduce us?"  
  
"Yeah, um," Billy said, backing up a few steps. He ran into the corner of Joey's desk, stumbling. Joey's reflexes kicked in before he could tell himself that reaching up to steady Billy with an arm around his waist would be a bad idea. Joey pulled away before Billy had the chance to react, furious at himself for such carelessness. Instinct was _not_ always all it was cracked up to be. He was slipping, and fast.  
  
"Ric, you retard," Phil said, weaving in and out of desks as he dashed from a few rows over. "Help the guy, why don't you? That almost cost us Joey's spare arm."  
  
"And where would we be without Joey's spare arm?" Billy asked, settling for a sort of quiet, unspoken _thanks_. His eyes weren't just hazel-green; they were fully equipped with linguistic capabilities. Joey just nodded, shrugging, and glued his eyes back on his homework. Everything about the situation had some kind of _DANGER_ written all over it, but Joey couldn't be sure _what_ kind.  
  
"Without a few black eyes," said Hank, jokingly.  
  
"How many times do I have to tell you I'm sorry?" Joey asked, refusing to look up.  
  
"No sweat, man," Hank said, clapping him on the back. Joey flinched, remembering what he'd felt in the split second he'd had his right arm around Billy's waist and his fingertips curled against Billy's stomach. _Warm skin under Billy's t-shirt, suggestion of wiry hair, slight rumbling as if he hadn't eaten_. When Billy's hand came down between Joey's shoulder blades, Joey almost jumped out of his seat.  
  
"Are you okay?" Billy asked, familiar as anything. As if he was concerned. As if he had the _right_.  
  
"Yeah, man," Joey said, shrugging him off as nonchalantly as he could manage. "Too much work."  
  
"Is that typical around here?" Billy asked, his voice inviting responses from everybody.  
  
"Sad, but true," Ric said.  
  
"Yep," Phil echoed. "He's Ricardo Montoya, by the way. I'm Phil Donoghue."  
  
"Really?" Billy asked, clearly amused. Joey resisted the temptation to look up. He wanted to see what Billy's eyes looked like when he laughed.  
  
"No. I'm actually Nicholas, but if you call me that, I'll kick your ass."  
  
"Done deal," said Billy, reasonably. "And you're —Ricardo?"  
  
"Ric," said Ric. "Just Ric. And as long as you don't give me a reason, I promise I won't kick your ass."  
  
Snuffy started to snicker and clipped Joey's left shoulder with the flat of his hand. "Joey, on the other hand—"  
  
"Would prefer it if you minded your own fucking business," said Joey, angrily, catching Snuffy's hand just in time to slip his fingers down to the wrist and give a good, hard twist. Snuffy yelled in pain, and Joey let go just as quickly as he'd taken hold.  
  
"Uh, _right_ ," Billy said, and Joey could feel the weight of his eyes again. Wary this time, not casual and easy. _Remember that_ , Joey thought, and finally looked up at him.  
  
"Easy," Hank said. "Nobody wants Oger to go calling the nurse."  
  
Ric and Phil were already up at the front of the row, conversing with Gube in low tones. Billy returned Joey's gaze as steadily as before, even if he did seem a bit rattled. Unexpectedly, he sank down on his knees beside Joey's chair, tilting his head at the margin of Joey's notebook page. _Shit_ , Joey thought. _He's noticed, just like they all do, and then the teasing starts_.  
  
"You an artist?" asked Billy, sounding genuinely interested.  
  
"Oh, _please_ ," Snuffy muttered, still rubbing his wrist.  
  
"Sort of," Joey said, shrugging. "Why?"  
  
"I always wished I could draw, that's why," replied Billy.  
  
"Get the fuck over here," Hank was hissing at Snuffy, a little too audibly. "I think he's got the magic touch."  
  
"Everybody says that," Joey said, finishing his equation. When Billy failed to get up and take a seat at the desk behind them, Joey put his pencil down and looked Billy straight in the eye. _Are you just like everybody else?_  
  
"Maybe they do," Billy agreed, shrugging back. "But do they all mean it?"  
  
Joey smiled in spite of himself. "Some do, I guess."  
  
"Well, good. I'm some people," Billy said. "Show me your sketches sometime?"  
  
"Maybe," Joey said, following the contours of Billy's features with his eyes. Unfortunate hair, decent forehead, too-bright eyes, generous mouth. "Would you model for me?" The words came out before Joey could swallow them, and something in the back of his head —the part of his brain that had been nattering on about how fascinating Billy would be to touch again, let alone to draw—started howling, anguished and incoherent.  
  
Billy's eyebrows shot up. "Do you ask _every_ new guy that question?" His flippant tone suggested that he was making a joke of it, but something warmer underneath suggested that it _might_ be something akin to Snuffy-style flirtation, only less...smarmy. Not at _all_ smarmy, in fact —not as far as Joey could tell.  
  
"Only the ones with ugly mugs," Joey said, grinning at him. God, how could _anybody_ maintain a sour mood with Billy Tepper pressing all the right buttons?  
  
_YOU_ , howled the thing at the back of his head, _ARE IN TROUBLE!_  
  
"Fucking loser," Snuffy muttered in response to whatever Hank had most recently said.  
  
Over Billy's shoulder, Joey shot him what he hoped was the dagger-glance to end all dagger-glances.  
  
Snuffy fell silent, biting his lip. His eyes were wider than usual, desolate with foreboding.  
  
Just then, the bell rang. Billy shook himself and drew something out of his back pocket. It looked like a crumpled-up printout from the Admissions Office. "D'you have any idea where Room 104 is?" he asked Joey, seemingly oblivious to the exchange that had just taken place.  
  
"Yeah," Joey said. "I'm going there next. I'll walk you."  
  
"So are we all," Snuffy said, giving Joey a nasty look. "Need anybody to carry your books?"  
  
Billy stood up and waved his empty hands in the air.  
  
"Snuff, don't be a jerk," said Joey, calmly, and collected up his books. "But you can carry mine if you want."  
  
"Blow me," replied Snuffy, and turned his back on them. Hank shrugged an apology and followed Snuffy out of the room, his posture suggesting he'd like nothing more than to pound some sense into the whole lot of them.  
  
Billy crumpled his schedule and shoved his hands in his pockets, staring at the floor. "So...rough day? Fire drill or something?" He glanced at Joey, reluctantly this time, as people filtered out of the room, something pained or embarrassed lurking beneath the surface. "What gives?"  
  
"Nothing," Joey said, his stomach sinking as he shoved his books into his bag and slung it over his shoulder. " _Long_ day is more like it, and Snuffy is just generally a prick."  
  
"Maybe because you all call him by a nickname he hates?"  
  
"No," Joey insisted, pushing his chair in for the next poor bastard, who'd only have to pull it out again. "It's deeper than that. Assholery is like, I don't know, an art form on his home planet. You'll see."  
  
Billy nodded slowly, as if he realized he was just going to have to take it on good faith.  
  
"C'mon," said Joey, clapping Billy briefly ( _trouble, trouble, TROUBLE_ ) on the elbow. "We're gonna be late for State History. Bet you didn't know how interesting Massachusetts is!"  
  
"Hopefully more interesting than Connecticut and New York," Billy said, his smile sort of resigned, and followed Joey into the hall. "But I've got a guess."  
  
_So have I_ , Joey thought, keeping his eyes fixed straight ahead. Billy's elbow had been rough, but just above that was skin that had warmed like brushfire to Joey's touch. "Did you grow up between both?" he asked Billy in an attempt to distract himself.  
  
"Yeah," said Billy. "Mom moved to Connecticut after the divorce."  
  
_Rough_ , Joey thought, and left it at that.  
  


* * *

  
  
"Hey," Billy said, rifling through the remaining pages as if they comprised a flipbook. "These are pretty good. I can tell the first third or so are older ones, though."  
  
Joey sat up straight at his desk, resisting the urge to snatch the sketchbook away. Billy was sitting directly across from him, on the edge of Joey's bed. He finally closed the book and glanced up at Joey, grinning.  
  
"How can you tell?" Joey asked, knowing full well how lame the question was.  
  
"I'm no art student, but I can just...you know, _see_ that the later ones work better than the early ones. Do you always draw people?"  
  
"Most of the time, but you probably noticed there's some abstract shit in there, too."  
  
"Yeah, and some colored pencil."  
  
"One watercolor," Joey volunteered, wondering if it even made a difference to Billy.  
  
"Do you think you could draw, say, floor plans?" Billy asked, not even trying for a graceful segue. He raised his eyebrows at Joey, grinning. "Or, failing that, do you know where to get them?"  
  
"Yes," Joey said, "and no. In that order. First, you gotta tell me _why_."  
  
Billy's explosive laughter was one of the most unexpected things Joey had heard all day. He was suddenly intensely grateful he'd managed to get a single that year. Billy was the sort of guest that would annoy anybody's roommate to death with the incessant questions alone.  
  
"Doesn't anybody around here enjoy a good prank now and then?"  
  
_Ah_ , Joey thought, setting the notebook aside on his desk. "Not as often as you'd think. There's this one ass-wipe, McAllister, but he's a fucking amateur. Nobody thinks his shit is funny, _least_ of all Parker and Gould. Think cherry-bombs in the toilets."  
  
"I'm so glad," Billy said, grabbing hold of Joey's arms, "that someone around here understands the concept of _class_. I'm not talking about the kind you get up early for, either."  
  
"I do understand that concept, though, too," Joey said, biting his lip. "Sorry to burst your bubble. I'm not big on cutting."  
  
"One need not cut class to pull pranks _with_ class," said Billy, letting go of Joey and rubbing his hands together. "So —as long as I promise you it won't involve cutting class, are you in?"  
  
The tingling up and down Joey's arms in the wake of Billy's touch was distracting, but he managed to grate out, "Yeah, sure."  
  
"Great!" Billy said, rubbing his palms together. "What'll it be, then—Door A, or Door B?"  
  
"Wait, _wait_ ," Joey said, closing his eyes on the fact that he'd more or less just _agreed to get in trouble_. "Where are these doors coming from?"  
  
"It's a figure of speech. Option A, or Option B?"  
  
"Listen, Billy, you're gonna have to tell me what these options are in a _non_ -figurative way." Joey opened his eyes and breathed out, hoping he'd pass for calm.  
  
Billy nodded. "Sure. Either we fill Gould's office with vodka-balloons, or—"  
  
"Stop right there," Joey said with a grin, holding up one hand. "You had me at vodka-balloons. Want me to work out how many bottles we'll need?"  
  
"Your obsession with math is weird and scary."  
  
Joey shook his head, already scribbling on a fresh piece of paper. Time to take a risk.  
  
"Not as scary as your obsession with _me_."  
  
Billy laughed again, as if he couldn't believe what he'd just heard, but it faded just as quickly as it had come. Joey knew laughter dying of honesty denied when he heard it.  
  
"So what," Billy said, almost defensively. "I like you. Is that a crime?"  
  
"Not as big a crime as we're gonna have to commit," Joey said, holding up the notebook page for Billy to see the finished result. "Do you have any idea how you're going to transport between twenty and thirty glass bottles from that liquor store down on the corner the whole way back to Regis? Because, if you're thinking what I'm thinking —namely, that we're aiming for covering all the occupiable floor-space immediately surrounding the door and the desk—then we need a _hell_ of a lot of vodka."  
  
"And balloons," Billy said, happy as a pig in shit. "Don't forget the balloons."  
  
"Those are the easy part, asshole. I can buy more than we could possibly ever need and smuggle them home in my backpack without any worries."  
  
Billy mock pouted, an almost endearing expression. "What, you're not willing to fit in a few bottles of vodka? If we both worked on it for, say, a week, carrying as many as we can at any given —"  
  
"The one and only time I tried? They carded me. The only place I get away with buying booze is at specialty shops in Boston. Given that the weekend trips happen _maybe_ two or three times a year, I'm thinking we're kind of screwed."  
  
Billy ran a hand through his hair, staring at the floor. "You're right. I look older than you do."  
  
"You're also a better liar than I am," Joey pointed out. "Sad, but true."  
  
"You mean you haven't had plenty of practice, what with..." Billy gestured, referring to everything Joey had told him over the past five or six hours. It was nearly two in the morning, and they were dead lucky that Billy's roommate, some limp rag by the name of Robert Anderson, wasn't the sort to go reporting that Billy hadn't come back to his own room at the call for lights-out. For all Joey knew, Robert was probably glad of some time alone.  
  
"Well, yeah, I have," Joey said, staring at the floor in his turn, "but that's different. It's...specific. Learning how to lie to _one_ person over years and years is one thing, but learning how to lie to _people_ is another. _Capisce_?"  
  
"Yeah," Billy said with a sigh, conceding defeat. "Understood. I'll see what I can do about the vodka."  
  
"Hank might be able to help you," Joey suggested. "He's gotten away with buying six-packs down there at least twice."  
  
Billy nodded thoughtfully. "Good to know. Will Snuffy be of any use?"  
  
"Not really," Joey said. "Want a lame scapegoat?"  
  
"Something tells me he wouldn't be good for even that."  
  
"That something would be correct," Joey said, rising from his chair, stretching. "It's late. Are you actually gonna risk going back to your room?"  
  
"I was starting to wonder about that," Billy admitted, getting up off the edge of the bed. "Advice?"  
  
"Don't risk it," Joey said. "I've got a couple of sleeping bags in the closet. You can have the bed."  
  
"You're an idiot," Billy said, that rare defensiveness coming out again. "I'll take the sleeping bags."  
  
"No, you won't," insisted Joey, already on his way to the closet. "Just don't make a regular thing of this, okay?" he joked, glancing at Billy over his shoulder.  
  
Billy laughed again, this time right on cue. His eyes added what he couldn't say —that he _more_ than just understood.  
  
Joey dropped the sleeping bags on the floor, then turned to rummage for the crowning glory. "How about some refreshment?" he asked, holding up a half-empty bottle of red wine. It had been fairly expensive, but some people were _worth_ putting out the leftovers. Snuffy, Joey noted with detachment, had never been one of them.  
  
"Wine? You drink _wine_? I don't know _shit_ about wine," Billy admitted, taking the bottle from Joey and swilling it around. "Is this stuff any good?"  
  
"Sit your ass back down," Joey said, pointing sternly at the bed, "and allow me to enlighten you."  
  
"Fair enough," Billy said, and obeyed. "Every guy's entitled to his hobby. Mine's coffee."  
  
Joey stared at him, pausing with the cork worked halfway out. "You're shitting me, right?"  
  
"Nope," said Billy, shaking his head. "I make a _mean_ French press."  
  
"You're _so_ on," Joey said, and popped the cork. To hell with glasses; time to take another risk. He took a swig straight from the bottle ( _sacrilege, sacrilege, SACRILEGE_ ), then passed it to Billy. Billy took a cautious sniff, giving Joey an almost pained look, and took a long pull. His expression on swallowing was one of faint surprise.  
  
"It's...warm," Billy said. "Spicy. Like, in a good way."  
  
"No shit, Sherlock," said Joey, too pleased for words, and flopped down beside him. "Hey, asshole! Save me some, why don't you."  
  
"Be my guest," Billy said, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, and gave the bottle back to Joey. "What year's that stuff? All I know is that the year matters—right?"  
  
"Yeah," Joey said, savoring the bite at the back of his tongue. "Eighty-two. Fucking fantastic for Barolo."  
  
"Is that what we're drinking?" Billy asked, trying to read through Joey's splayed fingers.  
  
"Yep," Joey said, passing back the bottle. _And eighty-nine isn't ending on such a shabby note, either_.  
  


* * *

  
  
"In case you hadn't noticed," Snuffy said, slamming down his tray at the spot across the table from Joey, "we haven't spoken in a week. What the hell have you been up to?"  
  
"Studying," Joey lied, indicating his open notebook page—which was, admittedly, at least half doodling—with the point of his pencil. "Algebra is kicking my ass, but nobody seems to believe me. What about you?"  
  
"Keeping Hank's whiny ass company," Snuffy said, sitting down. "Do you think I _enjoy_ being in his company when the wrestling team is sucking the big one?"  
  
"A guy who didn't know any better might," said Billy, arriving with his own tray. He slid into the seat next to Joey and gave Snuffy a military-style salute. "How's it going, Snuff?"  
  
"Seeing as you know better," said Snuffy, acidly, "you shouldn't have to ask."  
  
"I thought things were on the up and up," Billy said. "I talked to Hank this morning. They won yesterday's match against one of my old alma maters."  
  
Snuffy blinked at Billy, in the middle of opening his milk carton. "You went to Belmont?"  
  
"Got kicked out, as a matter of fact," replied Billy, around a mouthful of peas.  
  
Joey continued doodling, erring on the side of caution. If nothing else, the conversation was going to be amusing. Dangerous, true, but funny as hell, and maybe it would do Snuffy some good to see that Billy was, after all, only human —and a damned likeable one, at that. Just as long as Snuffy didn't find him _too_ likeable. At this rate, it didn't look terribly likely.  
  
"Yeah," Snuffy said, sipping his milk. "I've heard about your track record. Impressive."  
  
Billy shrugged, suddenly intent on his lunch.  
  
"Three schools in two years," said Snuffy, then whistled. "Think Regis will be your fourth?"  
  
Before Joey knew it, the surge of anger in his chest had made its way down his arm, through his fist, and halfway across the table. If Billy hadn't caught hold of him —at the cost of the contents of Billy's and Snuffy's trays scattered every which way—he might actually have gotten to the bastard's eternally congested nose.  
  
"Don't you take _any_ of the advice that I give you to heart?" asked Hank, walking up beside Snuffy, who hadn't so much leapt half out of his chair as fallen. Hank helped him back into his seat, then took the seat beside him. "Let it be, man. Let it _be_." He turned to Billy and Joey, then, almost as if a fight hadn't just nearly broken out. "What's up with you guys, anyway? There've been rumors of all-nighters and shit. Anything worth sharing?"  
  
"Only if you like Joey's fine wine," Billy said in a low voice, picking a few peas off his shirt, half leaning across the table. "Do you have any proprietary interest in pulling a good prank?"  
  
Hanks eyebrows shot up, and Snuffy was already looking offended by the mere fact that Billy had full command of center stage once more. The only lunch aide who might've taken offense to the brief scuffle was already discussing things with Janitor Palma, who started over with a mop, bucket, and his standard-issue mask of imperturbability. Hank glanced briefly at the incoming threat and said in a low voice, "What exactly would this proprietary interest entail?"  
  
"I need your help in procuring about thirty bottles of the finest Grey Goose your local packie can provide. I hear you're...above the radar, so to speak."  
  
"Yeah, man —that's right," Hank said, nodding briefly at Joey before glancing back at Billy. "And I suppose you realize that's a little much for the two of us to _procure_ , right? I think we'll need a third man."  
  
"I'll help," said Snuffy, suddenly, handing his tray off to Palma, who was patiently waiting. "I've never...tested the radar under these circumstances, but under others?" He patted his shirt pocket, where the ever-present pack of Camels lived. "I do decently."  
  
"Point," Joey muttered, finally closing his notebook. Scheming was too much fun; hell, it seemed like even a sourpuss like Snuffy could see that. "You guys think we should let Ric and Phil in on this?"  
  
"No," Billy said. "Not this one. I'd prefer to keep the first operation small. Four is, after all, more than a crowd. Six would be _suicide_."  
  
"Right you are," Snuffy said, index fingers pointed gun-style in Billy's direction, his eyes positively radiating admiration. "So, when do you propose we get started?"  
  
"We got the ball rolling a few nights ago," Joey said. "Preliminary plans."  
  
"Joey's taking care of balloons," Billy said.  
  
"Already got 'em," said Joey, truthfully. They were in his sock drawer, but they didn't need to know that.  
  
"Excellent," Hank said, "but what do balloons have to do with vodka?"  
  
"Imagine water balloons," said Billy, "only worse. A whole minefield of them. In a very...strategic location."  
  
"Parker or Gould?" Snuffy whispered, pretending to cough into his hand. Palma was mopping up the farthest-flung bit of the mess that they had made, well out of earshot.  
  
"I'm thinking the latter," Billy said. "I think he thinks I'm hopeless. Parker, at least, doesn't."  
  
"Parker is mostly cool," Joey said. "He'll give anyone a chance."  
  
"Yeah, even a time-bomb like you," Snuffy said, skating dangerously close to the edge they'd only moments ago left behind. "How do you and Hank propose to get that much vodka back here, though? You'll only be able to carry five or six apiece, and that's assuming you use backpacks. Did it ever occur to you that perhaps a little black-market bribery is in order?"  
  
"Bribery?" Hank asked, giving Snuffy a confused look. "Who's there to bribe?"  
  
"Our classmates, dickhead. I've got more than enough cigs to go around. If I apply them judiciously to certain weak-willed individuals..." He made a hand-over-hand rolling gesture, and Billy —who seemed suddenly wary, that much colder—nodded cautiously.  
  
"Right. See how many bottles you can weasel out of the sophomore class, full or otherwise. But you had better make it clear that keeping their mouths shut is part of the deal."  
  
"No problem," Snuffy said. "Besides, do you think they actually _care_ what we're gonna do with the booze as long as they get their smokes?"  
  
"Point," Billy said, but there was still the hint of a frown at the corners of his mouth. He glanced at Joey, as if to ask if this all sounded kosher. Joey nodded, then glanced at Snuffy.  
  
"Start with Gube. He's rumored to have an entire mini-bar in his closet."  
  
"Let it not be said you're without your uses, Trotta," Snuffy said, getting up with a stretch. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some _work_ to do."  
  
"Once he's changed his clothes," Hank said under his breath, then started to laugh.  
  
Billy joined in, but Joey took his satisfaction purely in watching.  
  


* * *

  
  
Joey unlocked his door, dropped his backpack on the floor next to his desk, shut the door behind him—and _stared_. There were at least twenty-odd bottles of vodka, or possibly all thirty, lined up in neat rows on the floor next to his bed. His first thought was that he didn't want to know who'd been sipping from some of the slightly dwindling ones, and his second thought was that maybe he never should have had a copy of his room key made for Billy. There was trust, and then there was _insanity_.  
  
Ten seconds later, the key in question turned in the lock, admitting Billy and Hank behind him. They staggered over to the bed, backpacks burgeoning.  
  
"Snuffy went to town," Billy said, unloading three more bottles from his backpack. "We only had to buy three apiece down at the liquor store. Snuff's going to have _his_ uses, if you ask me —ones to be frequently exploited."  
  
Hank finished unloading his bottles, then collapsed on Joey's bed. "You okay with stashing these? We figure you're less likely to get searched."  
  
"Uh," said Joey, unease twisting in the pit of his stomach. "How long do you propose I stash them? I mean, a couple of bottles of wine is one thing, but thirty-five bottles of vodka?"  
  
Guiltily, Billy chewed his lip. "Until Halloween. We figure that's the best time to pull it, because Hank tells me all the staff are occupied that night with the party-thing they throw in the caf."  
  
Joey did a spit-take, glancing over at his calendar. "Okay, you do realize that today is September twenty-ninth, right?"  
  
Billy glanced at Hank, as if to persuade him that they'd miscalculated. "Hey, maybe a month _is_ too much to ask. Tell you what, if we just split them up —"  
  
"No, _no_ ," Joey sighed, realizing they'd be in far worse trouble if they risked carrying that many bottles _back_ to the room Hank and Snuffy shared, or wherever they'd been letting them collect in the first place. "That's just stupid. I'll keep them, but you owe me _big_ time, Billy."  
  
Billy was already nodding, as if he knew nothing better —and had no problem with that, either.  
  
"You're the man, Joey," Hank said, rising from the mattress. "Hey, listen, I got practice. See you guys in class tomorrow?"  
  
"Yeah," Joey said, waving him out of the room. "Coach won't appreciate it if you're late."  
  
"Thanks, dude. 'Later, Billy."  
  
Much to Joey's surprise, Billy didn't bother answering him. He just stood there till the door clicked shut, then turned to Joey with a panic-stricken look.  
  
"I messed up," he babbled, instinctively reaching for Joey's nearest hand. "Fucking _fuck_ , I messed up, if they come in here I've as good as screwed you over, and honestly, I didn't fucking _mean_ to screw you over, I just didn't —"  
  
"Think?" Joey asked, taking Billy's left hand tightly in his right, clapping his left over Billy's mouth. "Yeah, I get the impression that's fairly standard with you. Don't worry," he admitted, "I can deal."  
  
Stunned, Billy asked, his lips moving too slowly against Joey's palm, " _Why_? Why would you do that? I'm just some guy who came along and happened to like you."  
  
"Because if I don't," Joey said, glancing at all the bottles behind them, "I'm going to go fucking nuts, and I'll lose a great friend." He took his hand away from Billy's mouth and put it on Billy's shoulder instead. "Now, no more of that. The neighbors might talk. You okay?"  
  
"Yeah," Billy said, shaking himself. "Yeah, thanks. I keep thinking they don't make friends the way they used to, and I imagine that's because they threw out the mold after they made you." His smile was small, pained, and quiet —just as exceptional as the way his eyes frequently added to, or even contradicted, his laughter.  
  
"Can you hold that thought?" Joey asked, letting go of him. He raced over to the desk and grabbed his sketchbook, flipping open to the first blank page he could find.  
  
"I'd almost rather not," Billy said. "It's a distressing one."  
  
"Sit down," Joey said, same old routine of pointing to the mattress until Billy complied. "It won't take me long to get down the underpinnings, I promise."  
  
"Drawings have underpinnings?"  
  
"Kind of. Don't talk!"  
  
Joey grabbed the nearest pencil on his desk, praying it was sharp, and started to sketch. If he couldn't have a kiss—and Billy would be a far better lip-lock than that Kelly chick, no question—then a portrait sitting would have to be the next best thing. Still, he wasn't above helping himself to some revenge.  
  
"You know what I think?" Joey asked, glancing up from his sketching.  
  
"What?" asked Billy, more or less out of the corner of his mouth.  
  
"We're going to have a _shitload_ of leftover vodka."  
  
Billy almost cracked up, but not quite. He just nodded ruefully.  
  
"Any idea what to do about that?"  
  
"I'll come up with something."  
  
_I don't doubt it_ , Joey thought, and sketched the glint in Billy's eyes before it vanished.

  
  
**OCTOBER**  
  
While Joey didn't consider himself exceptionally close with Ric and Phil, he was _almost_ as close to them as he was with Billy, Snuffy, and Hank, which had to count for something. He'd been pegged with diplomatic duty by Billy, which Snuffy found fucking hilarious. Ric and Phil had been increasingly edgy around Joey, especially when Billy was there, and, when it got down to it, Billy really wanted to be in their good graces. It was time to let them know something big was afoot. By the time Joey finished explaining the prank, Phil was all ears, and Ric was all trepidation.  
  
"That kicks _ass_ ," Phil said. "You guys are pretty brave. Either that or pretty stupid."  
  
"My question is," said Ric, nervously, "would you have thought this kind of thing was cool _before_ Billy came along?"  
  
Joey and Phil exchanged glances. Phil nodded, and Joey shrugged.  
  
"For my part," Phil said to Ric, "probably not —but, frankly, I think Billy's cool, and I'm tired of pussyfooting because I think it's gonna upset you if I start hanging with him. Just look at what Joey getting to know him's done to Snuff. That's pointless. I can count on you not to flake on me, right?"  
  
"What the fuck are you talking about?" said Ric, in a burst of laughter. "Hang with him all you want, but if you get in trouble for this prank by association, don't come crying to me."  
  
"Hell no," said Phil. "I'm not going in on it. Not yet, anyway. I want to see what happens."  
  
"You guys should both start hanging with us," Joey said. "Billy would like that. He thinks you're both cool. It's why I'm sitting here with you guys instead of having my usual lunch alone."  
  
"Don't you mean your usual lunch with Billy?" asked Ric, teasingly.  
  
"Yeah," Joey said, "but take notice that Billy's schmoozing Snuffy and Hank halfway across the caf. He's trying to convince Snuff he's in this for more than just..." _For more than just having the Mafia don's son on his side, or some twisted shit like that_.  
  
"I get you," Phil said. "Snuffy is a jealous fuck. I'd hate to fight with him over a chick."  
  
"Go straight for the nose," Joey advised him, grinning.  
  
"Or for the balls," said Ric. "If he's got any."  
  
"I wouldn't count on it," Joey said, pushing around the remainder of his macaroni and cheese. Every so often, Billy glanced over and gave him the briefest of smiles. It made the whole miserable operation worth it. Besides, he'd needed the reminder just as badly: Phil and Ric were top-notch guys, just severely underrated.  
  
The question was, if not for Billy, would he have stood to _take_ the reminder?  
  


* * *

  
  
Sixth period study hall had, for all intents and purposes, become the highlight of Joey's day. As the semester progressed, Oger had gotten more and more lax about how much talking, and at what volume, was permitted. Besides, he was in the thick of directing that autumn's play, and because Snuffy was playing some minor lead or another, it meant that Snuffy was that much more likely to stay out of everybody's hair. Joey, on the other hand, found that his productivity had gone way down—and that, strangely, he didn't mind a bit. He and Billy had taken to occupying the last two seats in the back right-hand corner of the room. Side by side, they probably looked equally as likely to be collaborating on homework as to be having heart-to-heart conversation.  
  
"That's kind of sad," said Billy, almost philosophically. "Snuffy's idea, you say?"  
  
"Yeah. He reeled her in with the offer of a cigarette, but he made _me_ ask for her name. The irony being, I couldn't even remember it thirty seconds later."  
  
"Is Mara's Deli any good?"  
  
"You're changing the subject. I thought you wanted to know about my pathetic conquests."  
  
"As far as I can tell, you haven't _got_ any actual conquests. Therefore, food is more interesting."  
  
Joey blinked. Billy definitely had a point, and it wasn't an insulting one, either. Still, he had to make at least a gesture in the direction of saving face. If anybody happened to be listening in —not Snuffy, since he was at the front of the room, lost in conversation with Oger—they were done for. Guys did _not_ talk like this. At least not superficially.  
  
"What about _your_ conquests, then? Are they better discussion fodder than the prospect of my describing Mara's signature honey-mustard ham sub?"  
  
Billy chuckled, glancing down at his hands. "If you call a seventh-grade feel-up in the maintenance closet and a ninth-grade game of Spin-the-Bottle conquests, then sure, they're better discussion fodder."  
  
Joey tilted his head, wondering if he ought to take the logical next step or just let it be. _Risks_ , he reminded himself. _Gotta take 'em_.  
  
"What schools?"  
  
"Goldsmith and Belmont."  
  
Joey waded through the ramifications and tried his best not to look shocked on the other side. "Goldsmith's co-ed, right?"  
  
"Right," said Billy, nodding down at his hands.  
  
"Belmont's...not."  
  
"Right again."  
  
"So, I'm guessing the Goldsmith feel-up was some chick, and the Belmont kiss...wasn't?"  
  
"You're too good for this game," said Billy, shaking his head as if to dispel some secret shame. "Mind keeping your voice down?"  
  
"Sorry," Joey muttered, fixing his eyes on the sketch he'd been working on only half-assed since the start of the period. "Just so you know, I'm okay with that."  
  
"Which? The feel-up, or the kiss?" Billy asked the question as if demanding a verdict.  
  
"Both," said Joey, then changed his mind. "No, I mean —fuck, you _know_ what I mean."  
  
Billy took a deep breath, as if it was _his_ turn to take a risk. "As in, the one that bothers you isn't the one I'd automatically assume bothers you?"  
  
"Um," said Joey, momentarily concerned. "Yeah. Something like that. To be honest, given that they're relatively in the past, neither one of them really —"  
  
The bell rang, louder than usual. Snuffy sauntered to the back of the room, apparently finished with Oger. He retrieved his books from his desk, not stopping until he came to where Billy and Joey were sitting.  
  
"So, what hot prank action have I missed today?"  
  
"None, in fact," Billy said. "We were just shooting the breeze."  
  
Snuffy affected a mildly shocked expression, then turned his gaze on Joey. "Well, I _do_ declare. Is that true, Mr. Trotta? I wasn't aware that 'shooting the breeze' had survived into this century. Isn't the updated term 'bullshitting'?"  
  
"Fine," said Joey, closing his notebook curtly. "We were bullshitting. Now, as we also say in the modern age, fuck off."  
  
Billy set a hand on Joey's arm. "Hey, let him —"  
  
"I'd gladly be let, but I've got to get to class," said Snuffy. "Smell you later."  
  
"I wasn't aware _that_ had survived into this century," Billy muttered. "He got his chance and let it pass. This is me making a mental note not to stand up for him any time soon. What did you say his home planet was?"  
  
"I didn't," said Joey, shouldering his bag and tugging Billy up from his seat. "Best not spoken of."  
  
"Right," Billy said, sighing heavily. "I'm really not looking forward to an hour of history followed by an hour of woodshop, _especially_ not an hour of woodshop where you magically vanish to the art room. Any suggestions?"  
  
_Yeah_ , Joey thought, _but it's the kind of suggestion that only you would make_.  
  
"C'mon," Billy whispered, ushering Joey out of the room ahead of himself. "Let's get out of here. Would it hurt you to cut the first two classes of your life all in the same day?"  
  
"Me? No," Joey admitted, "but my grades? Yes, possibly."  
  
"Screw your grades! Who cares if you get an A-minus instead of an A!" It was the closest that Billy had ever come to snapping at him, and they both knew it. Almost instantly, Billy backed down. "Or not. Sorry, I know, I _know_ , your grades are important. I have a different outlook on academic performance than you do. Forget I men—"  
  
"Gotta piss," Joey muttered, breaking away from Billy. He knew they weren't anywhere near the closest bathroom, but he had to at least look like he was determined to get there. "See you at the classroom in five, okay?"  
  
"Yeah," Billy said, frowning at him. "Okay."  
  
Grateful for the cover of the last-minute rush, Joey made it to the corridor, dashed down a flight, and cut into the now-closest bathroom. He was glad the place was empty, because, in addition to actually needing to piss, he also needed to take a long, hard look in the nearest mirror and slap himself silly. This was _not_ happening. He was _not_ planning to do what he really wanted to do, and he was _not_ planning on making Billy find an excuse to...  
  
_Screw that_ , Joey thought, zipping his fly. Come hell or high water, he _would_.  
  
His room was dark and quiet when he got there, free from the offending vodka bottles, which were safely stowed between the back corner of his closet, his bottom desk drawer, and his sock drawer (which only fit one bottle, but every little bit counted). Joey thought about opening the blinds, then opted in favor of switching on the desk lamp. He sat down on the edge of the bed and unlaced his shoes, noticing in the process that his hands had begun to shake. He tossed his Chucks to one side, swiping the back of his hand across his forehead. It wasn't a question of _if_ Billy would come; it was only a question of _when_.  
  
Twenty seconds later, like clockwork, there was Billy's key in the lock.  
  
"Would you mind explaining what kind of mind-fuck this is?" Billy shut the door behind him carefully, but he never once took his eyes off of Joey. They demanded, _Why?_  
  
Joey shrugged, helplessly shaking his head. _Because I'm a fucking coward, that's why_.  
  
"I mean, what are you proposing, exactly?" Billy asked, his voice rising from nervousness to sheer panic, a tone Joey had only heard once before. "Just because I've had a couple of meaningless make-out sessions, that doesn't mean I'd be okay with throwing out all we've got here. Joey, we could _wreck_ this thing. I mean it."  
  
Joey stood up. By now, it wasn't just his hands shaking, and it wasn't from nervousness, either.  
  
"No, Billy," he said, barely able to control his disappointment, " _you_ could wreck this thing. And I don't know if you know it, but you're wrecking it right now."  
  
"Oh, believe me," Billy said, biting his lower lip. "I know it."  
  
"Just a kiss," Joey heard himself saying. "That's all. I have to know. You understand, right?"  
  
"Too well," Billy said, still nodding. His eyes were even brighter than usual, and whether it was on account of unshed tears, Joey preferred not to know. Blindly, he crossed the few remaining feet between them, closing his eyes only once he'd caught hold of Billy's arms.  
  
"You have no idea how fucking loudly I'm screaming at myself right now," Joey whispered, and leaned in, hoping Billy would do the rest. He did.  
  
What Joey noticed wasn't so much the way Billy's lips parted so eagerly —no, that he _devoured —_but what he _noticed_ was that Billy had wrapped one arm around his waist in much the same way that Joey had wrapped his own arm around Billy on the first day they'd met, a gesture born more of instinct than of obligation. Joey had let his arms go wherever they wanted; that, it seemed, was wound so tightly around Billy's shoulders that, under the awkwardness, he could suddenly understand why Billy felt the need to hold him up —or, indeed, why they felt the need to hold each _other_ up. What with such lack of space to breathe, they were _drowning_.  
  
"Time," gasped Billy, finally. "Time-out, okay? _Joey_."  
  
"Hmmm?" Joey discovered that, if he actually pulled back for a full second _before_ diving back in, the breathing thing wasn't such an issue. God, Billy tasted good. A little like that day's lunch, maybe, but, under that, still fucking _great_.  
  
"Seriously, you gotta —let—me— _breathe_."  
  
"Fine," gasped Joey, staggering backwards as Billy they released each other. Conveniently, the mattress was there to break his fall. Billy just stood there, swaying a little, looking kind of shell-shocked. Joey propped himself up on his elbows, grinning. If this was _anything_ like being on smack, he'd never need to try the real thing.  
  
"Does that...answer your question?" Billy asked, touching his fingers to his lips, and Joey wondered idly if he even knew he was doing it. "You know, that whole 'gotta know' thing?"  
  
"Well, yeah," said Joey, in spite of the wild fear rising in his throat. "Does it answer yours?"  
  
Billy ran both hands through his hair, pacing in a tight circle. "Jesus Christ, Joey. The one thing in the world that could get us in _more_ trouble than this fucking prank, and _you're_ the one to come up with it. Do you think I'm _not_ proud of you?"  
  
"It's not pride I'm after," said Joey, instantly sober. He sat up straight and said, almost furiously, "It's _you_ I'm after, except I had no fucking clue where to start. Give me a fucking break, okay? You've at least kissed a guy before. Me? I might as well have kissed diddly _squat_ , and oh, yeah, that whole groping thing? Not so much. Are you happy?"  
  
Billy stopped pacing and stared at Joey, letting his hands drop. "No," he said, very quietly, and sat down carefully on the mattress, as if he was afraid Joey might bite. "But I was about thirty seconds ago, and that's the happiest I've been in, let's see, at least five years."  
  
_Five years_ , thought Joey, regarding him with pity. For their age, that was a long time. He leaned in and kissed Billy again, this time soft and brief.  
  
"I'm sorry, man," he said. "This whole thing was fucking rude of me."  
  
"Only because I suggested that you didn't have the guts to skip class," Billy reminded him, leaning in again. "Which of us is sorrier, do you think?"  
  
"Neither of us, I hope," Joey admitted, making sure their mouths touched as he said it.  
  
"I'm _so_ fucking glad you said that," Billy murmured, and beneath the waves they went.  
  


* * *

  
  
_Kissing, and lots of it. Just like in his room yesterday afternoon, only hotter and heavier, and clothes were starting to come off._ That _hadn't actually happened, but it was definitely happening now. Neither of them had much to take off, anyway: Joey was in an old t-shirt and boxers, the ones with the frogs on, and Billy was...well, shirtless, and were those tights or some kind of track-pants? No matter, really, and neither was the fact that they were on somebody's hard floor with nothing but a lumpy pillow that smelled funny and a couple of standard-issue Regis blankets for cover. Joey had his eyes closed, but when he opened them, eerie light slatted through the blinds and across Billy's bare back, and some shadow rose and flared, menacing. He screwed his eyes shut again and slid his hands from Billy's shoulder blades down to his ass, demanding more._  
  
Joey woke up with a gasp, grateful to find himself alone in spite of the massive hard-on he'd acquired as a result of the dream. It had been weird, not your usual seduction scene: it was as if they had been stuck someplace inconvenient and were trying to make the best of it. Had he been dreaming _within_ the dream, or had he sensed other presences in the room? Fuck that. Joey flopped back onto his pillow and gritted his teeth, glancing at the clock on the edge of his desk.  
  
At least he had time to jerk off and shower.  
  
At breakfast, Joey could tell just by looking that Snuffy was in a universally bad mood. Billy, on the other hand, was nowhere to be found. He must've overslept again. Joey sighed, setting his tray down beside Snuffy's. He might as well get this over with.  
  
"Mr. Trotta!" Snuffy said, feigning cheerfulness. "Would you care to tell me where you were during history yesterday? You missed some _excellent_ Revolutionary War gossip. Did you know that, at Lexington —"  
  
"I don't give a flying fuck about Lexington," Joey muttered, pouring milk over his cereal. "I had a migraine. I went to the nurse and then to my room."  
  
"Did you happen to invite Mr. Tepper to share your migraine? There must've been enough pain to go around, because _he_ didn't give a shit about Lexington, either."  
  
Joey set the milk carton down and gave Snuffy a calculated glare.  
  
"Why, exactly, do you care?"  
  
Snuffy looked sincerely offended. "Because I think Billy's a bad influence on you, that's why. First it's vodka-balloons, then it's skipping class. Before you know it —"  
  
"Hey, you're pretty keen on those vodka-balloons yourself. Thanks for all the loot."  
  
"You idiot," Snuffy whispered, under his breath. "I'm undercover. Don't you get it? As long as I make like I really dig this, I'm gonna see the full extent of what Billy's capable of. And once it goes too far, I'm going to _nail_ his ass."  
  
"You," Joey said, picking up his tray, "are officially no longer in on this. We get to keep the vodka, though."  
  
Snuffy made a face. "Oh, please, what are you gonna do — _move to another table_?"  
  
Joey nodded. "For starters, yeah. And I'm gonna tell Billy what a double-crossing dickwad you are. Sounds fair, don't you think?"  
  
"Fine, whatever," Snuffy said, rolling his eyes. "I won't turn him in."  
  
Joey tilted his head, letting Snuffy know he meant business if this wasn't genuine.  
  
"Honest to God," Snuffy sighed. "That's the clincher. That's what I had to know."  
  
Joey sat down, perplexed, a faint shiver moving down his spine. "What did you have to know?"  
  
"That he actually meant that much to you," Snuffy said, throwing his hands in the air. "What can I do? The barest hint of a threat to your precious Billy, and you're ready to rip out my throat. I'm not going to turn him in, Joey. That was never part of the plan. I think vodka-balloons are the best shit I've ever heard of. But man, I _do_ think he's a bad influence on you. Before you know it, you're gonna be his bitch."  
  
"That's what everybody's thinking, I'm sure," Joey said, stirring his cereal around, all appetite lost. "Do you think I'd let it go on if I gave a shit?"  
  
"Fair enough," said Snuffy, raising his eyebrows and nodding, as if Joey had made the one point that could end the argument. Still, something in Snuffy's demeanor told Joey that nothing would ever be quite the same between them again.  
  
"So," Joey asked, gesturing deliberately, "we're cool?"  
  
"Yeah," Snuffy said, nodding, his smile a scant veneer. "Cool as we can be."  
  
"Whatever," Joey said, and made himself take a bite of cereal. "How about that wrestling team?"  
  
"See under 'other reason I'm a widow'," said Snuffy, dourly, and dug into his eggs.  
  
"I hear the play puts you in drag," Joey replied, not looking at him. _Where you belong_.  
  


* * *

  
  
"Brilliant," Billy gasped between kisses, but whether it was because Joey had put cold hands up his shirt or stuck his thigh suggestively between Billy's, Joey wasn't sure. "Have I mentioned your power to walk without a sound is unsettling?"  
  
"Must be hereditary," said Joey, darkly, and pulled Billy back down for another go. Billy's skin never ceased to amaze him: it warmed faster than human skin had the right to, especially after sneaking around in cold corridors with arm-breaking bucket-loads of booze-filled balloons. Without Hank and Snuffy on the task force, they couldn't have pulled it off—but this was their celebration, and theirs alone.  
  
"So—um—hey, _careful_ ," Billy murmured, almost giggling when Joey pinched his sides. "When d'you think we'll hear about it? Before the night's out?"  
  
"Maybe if Gould goes to his office before he heads to his apartment for the night," said Joey, thoughtfully. "For my money, though? Not until morning. By the time that shin-dig is over, all the staff will want is to go the hell home."  
  
"Are you sure you don't mind we're missing the end of it?" Billy asked, running the tip of his index finger from Joey's earlobe down the length of his jaw-line. Joey shivered.  
  
"Are you kidding? We'd arouse more suspicion by showing up late than by not showing at all. Plenty of guys skive off. Only _freshmen_ think Halloween is cool, remember?"  
  
"I don't know," said Billy, leaning back against Joey's pillows. "I always liked Halloween. My best costume was, God, let's see..." Billy squinted at the ceiling, lips twisting briefly. "Lawrence of Arabia, fifth grade."  
  
"Have you seen the film?" Joey asked, vaguely excited. He wouldn't have taken Billy for a film buff, but then, he wouldn't have taken him for a coffee aficionado, either.  
  
"Not _since_ fifth grade," said Billy, smiling ruefully. "It was on really late at night. I don't even think I knew what was going on, and, come to think of it, I _still_ don't know what was going on. All I remember is lots of sand."  
  
Joey grabbed one of the pillows and brought it down smack in Billy's face. "You're only missing out on one of the greatest cinematic masterpieces of all time!"  
  
Billy yanked the pillow away and tossed it off the side of the bed. "Fine, then we should persuade whoever's in charge of the derelict VHS collection down in the rec room that it _sorely_ needs a copy of _Lawrence of Arabia_. How's that?"  
  
"Fat chance, if they happen to know the nitty gritty details of the content," sighed Joey, chewing his lip. He folded his arms on Billy's chest, leaning in until the tips of their noses touched. "You know, from this close? You look like one huge eyeball."  
  
"Is that a dick joke, or are you _really_ a budding Surrealist?"  
  
"Neither," Joey said, kissing the corner of Billy's mouth. "I _hope_ I'm a budding Symbolist. That'd be way cooler."  
  
"You're going to have to fill me in on what that means," said Billy, working a couple of fingers under the waistband of Joey's jeans. "And if showing interest in art history terms gets me in your pants, all the better."  
  
"You're lucky you're lying on the other pillow. Um, I think the Symbolist movement was —"  
  
Three sharp knocks sounded on Joey's door, and, judging by the urgency, they meant business.  
  
"Oh, _shit_ ," Joey whispered, rolling off of Billy and straightening his shirt. "Get up. _Sit_ up. We could have a problem."  
  
Billy did as he was told, making a point of snatching the pillow he'd thrown on the floor and holding it in his lap. He gave Joey a thumbs-up. Joey rolled his eyes and went to answer the door, opening it only a crack. "Yeah?" he asked, squinting into the hall.  
  
"Mr. Trotta, little though I like making house calls," said Parker, pushing on the door until Joey opened it about a foot, "I'm going to have to ask you if Mr. Tepper is in here."  
  
Joey stood aside and gave Billy a stricken look, gesturing over at the bed. Billy waved at Parker, putting on his most innocent look, which wasn't very.  
  
"Anything I can do for you, sir?" he asked casually. "You've interrupted one hell of a pillow fight."  
  
Joey gritted his teeth and closed his eyes. This _wasn't_ how he'd planned on spending tonight.  
  
"Mr. Tepper, I have it on good authority that you're more or less responsible for the flood of vodka and broken balloons that met Dr. Gould when he opened his office door about half an hour ago. Do you have anything to say about that?"  
  
_Oh my God_ , Joey thought, opening his eyes to see how Billy was faring. _Next time I see Snuffy, I'm going to do worse than just kill him_.  
  
Billy was standing by now, the pillow forgotten on the mattress. "Who's this good authority, anyway? I've got an alibi. I've been with Joey all evening, right?"  
  
"Yeah," said Joey, glancing over at Parker, as if it might make a difference. He knew it wouldn't.  
  
"Now, nobody says you _bought_ any vodka," continued Parker, folding his arms across his chest, "not even the guys at the liquor store. But somebody _did_ let us know that they'd overheard a conversation in the cafeteria that proved you were behind it. Any questions?"  
  
_...or not_ , Joey thought, desperately questioning Billy with his eyes. _Who told on us? Hank?_  
  
Billy shook his head, almost imperceptibly. _Not Hank_ , said his eyes. _Not Snuffy_.  
  
"Mr. Tepper, I'm afraid you're under arrest," said Parker, shaking his head at the floor. "I asked the sheriff I could bring you down myself. Under normal circumstances, this wouldn't have happened, but local law enforcement is involved because they happened to be on the premises, as they are every year for the party. Do you understand?"  
  
"Perfectly," Billy muttered, standing up and holding out his wrists. "Did they at least lend you handcuffs?"  
  
Instinctively, Joey moved away from the door and reached for him, but Parker was already there.  
  
"No, Mr. Tepper," he said, taking Billy gently, but firmly, by the upper arm. "There's no need for that."  
  
"Why am I not in trouble?" asked Joey, sharply. If all he could do was stall, so be it. "I was at that lunch table."  
  
"Janitor Palma says you had nothing to do with it," said Parker, leading Billy out the door and into the hallway. "He also says Mr. Bradberry and Mr. Giles are innocent. Do you have anything you'd like to add to that?"  
  
"No," Joey said, his mouth going dry. _Vittorio Palma, hired right around the time you started at this miserable joint —c'mon, Trotta, do the math. You know one of your old man's plants when you see one. His job is to keep you_ out _of trouble, and remove anybody from the equation who might_ get _you in trouble._  
  
"Are you all right, Mr. Trotta?"  
  
"Not really," Joey said, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, deciding to adopt as honest a middle ground as he could. His conscience was right; there was no use getting Snuffy and Hank in trouble when Palma had already gone to the trouble of falsely clearing them in order to shift the severity of the charge entirely onto Billy, who he clearly wanted to see gone. "It's just that seeing your best friend arrested kind of puts a damper on things, you know?"  
  
Billy smiled, as if the fact he was about to be carted off to a cell in the courthouse basement didn't matter. God, what Joey _didn't_ want to do to him in that moment.  
  
"I know," said Parker, leaning in to pull Joey's door shut with his free hand. "I'm sorry. Good night, Mr. Trotta."  
  
"Good night," said Joey, his throat tightening as Billy vanished from sight.  
  


* * *

  
  
"Jesus fucking Christ," said Hank, pacing the length of Joey's room. "I should be down there with him. This is _really_ uncool, man. What's that janitor dude think he's playing at?"  
  
"I already told you," said Joey, throwing the bouncy-ball he'd found in his pencil drawer as hard as he could at the opposite wall. "He's one of my dad's flunkies, I'm almost sure of it. Billy shows up, gets too close to me, nearly gets me in trouble. End of story."  
  
Snuffy ducked the ball as it shot in his direction, whirling to face Joey as if he'd been hit with an idea instead. "You know that the worst they can do is hold him there until somebody posts bail, right? If Parker's smart, which he is, he's going to bargain with the sheriff like he usually does, and Billy will get off with community service or dish duty or scrubbing Gould's floor. It's _never_ as bad as it looks, although I have to admit, I've never seen them cart somebody off on a first offense. Billy must have some nasty shit on his permanent record we don't know about."  
  
"No way," Joey insisted, folding his arms across his chest. "Billy would've told me. All he's got is a buttload of completely brilliant pranks. Nobody's ever gotten hurt."  
  
"Then why's he in the slammer instead of licking vodka off Gould's floor?"  
  
Joey stood up and took a few steps in Snuffy's direction, then gave up. "I don't have to take this," he said, snatching his jacket off the back of his chair. "Get the fuck out of my room. It's almost curfew."  
  
"Yeah, but where are _you_ going?" Hank asked, dragging Snuffy into the hall. "You can't do a damn thing about it until after class tomorrow. Billy might not be allowed visitors."  
  
"Get the _fuck_ out," said Joey, and slammed the door in their faces.  
  
If there was anything that Joey knew about the local law enforcement - in addition to the fact that Snuffy was probably correct about Billy's fate —it was that they were suckers for convenience, and that money spoke volumes. Joey stalked over to the closet and dropped to his knees, moving his shoes and soccer-gear box out of the way. He hadn't ripped up his fingernails in a good couple of months by accessing the hiding place he'd inadvertently discovered by tripping over it, but it was high time. At last count, he'd stuck about $300 in cash under that tile—yep, all still there. If Billy's bail was higher than $150, then Joey was a monkey's uncle.  
  
There was only an hour and a half until curfew. Joey shoved the money in his pocket, stuck on his Yankees cap, and _ran_. Getting out of the building wouldn't be the hard part, but clearing Frank, the guard at the front gate, would. Fortunately, Frank seemed to be of the opinion that sixty bucks was pretty good hush money.  
  
"Don't say my dad never taught me shit," Joey muttered, almost hating himself, and started sprinting again.  
  
The wind was fraught with a hint of snow. Briefly, Joey regretted leaving his cloves and his lighter in the room. He had less than forty-five minutes to get back to Regis by the time he reached the courthouse, but still, its pale lights were the most welcome he'd seen all day.  
  
Ten minutes later, Joey was out of there, his pockets empty, hoping it was true that they never released somebody, even if they made bail, until morning.

  
  
**NOVEMBER**  
  
_Kissing again: the wrong kind, and, unfortunately, still lots of it. Snuffy had Billy pinned up against the back wall of the courthouse, exactly where Kelly had pinned him. Disturbingly enough, they both seemed to be enjoying themselves. Dimly, Joey realized that was probably the point of the dream; if this was waking life, he'd already have thrown himself at Snuffy and not stopped with the pummeling till all Snuffy's movement had ceased. Almost as if he'd heard Joey's thoughts, Snuffy stopped kissing Billy and turned around, his expression almost coy.  
  
"So," he said, licking his lips, stepping toward Joey with a predatory smile. "Who'll it be?"  
  
"I think you already know," said Joey, placing one hand on the middle of Snuffy's chest. One gentle shove and Snuffy seemed to evaporate, leaving him with a clear view of Billy.  
  
"I already knew," Billy said, looking down at his feet, ashamed. "I should have said."  
  
"You let_ me _find out for myself," Joey said, reaching for him. "That counts for something, right?"_  
  
Joey woke to the sound of a key in the lock. He sat up with a start, his eyes still sleep-heavy. His heart, on the other hand, knew exactly what was going on. As Billy struggled with the doorknob, it hammered on painfully. Joey tripped his way out of bed, but by the time he got free of the covers, Billy was in.  
  
"You're a sight for sore eyes," he said, helping Joey to his feet. "Literally. I got no fucking sleep. This boring drunk guy rambled at me all night."  
  
"Then you got off easy," said Joey, carefully touching Billy's puffed-up right eyelid. "Anything else you wanna tell me?"  
  
"Yeah," Billy said, sighing heavily. "He also seemed to think I was his long-lost douchebag brother, so he decided to take a few swings. One of them didn't miss."  
  
"There's got to be a law against the sheriff doing shit like this for fun," Joey muttered, leaning in for what he intended to be a brief, gentle kiss. It didn't stay that way for long.  
  
"How long till class?" Billy mumbled, trying to kick out of his shoes and pull his sweatshirt up over his head at the same time. It wasn't working.  
  
Joey helped him with the shirt, giddy and terrified all at once. "An hour, give or take. Why? We can just skip."  
  
"Much though I appreciate the sentiment," Billy said, shirtless and grinning, "I think I've gotten us in enough trouble for one week. Are you the mysterious guy off the street who put up my bail? I know it wasn't either of my parents. Believe me, I called them and begged."  
  
Joey leaned in and kissed him, guiding Billy's hands to his pajama shirt buttons. "Is that enough answer for you?"  
  
"Yeah," Billy murmured, working his way through the buttons in record time. "Oh, Jesus. _Joey_." He let the shirt slide down Joey's arms of its own accord, letting his hands fall instead to Joey's waist.  
  
"Say that again," Joey insisted, biting Billy's lower lip.  
  
"Say what? The name of the Lord in vain?"  
  
"No," Joey whispered. " _My_ name. Like...you know. Like _that_."  
  
"I wasn't aware there was any particular way to say your name."  
  
"There's a particular way _you_ say it," Joey said, tugging him over to the bed.  
  
There didn't seem to be a doubt in Billy's mind that this was going to be different from the handful of other times that they'd made out —and Joey, helplessly, _couldn't_ help but agree. If there was a fine line between best friends seeing each other naked in the locker room and seeing each other naked in the privacy of a dorm room, well, they'd just crossed it. Billy's eyes flitted from Joey's eyes to his chest to his dick to his eyes again, as if he couldn't settle on any given point, as if all of them were equally worthy of his stare. Joey was stuck on Billy's mouth. He punched Billy in the arm, edging in closer.  
  
"Don't be so shocked. You knew I wasn't cut," said Joey, heat spreading instantly from his cheeks to the rest of his face. "Not my fault it looks weird, got it?"  
  
Billy blinked at him, eyes glazed, as if he hadn't registered any of what Joey was saying. "Would you just shut up already?" he demanded, and finally unfroze. He pulled Joey in close, crushing their mouths together. So much for seductive conversation.  
  
"Unfortunately for you," Joey gasped when he finally got the chance, "I don't know if pushiness is one of my kinks or not. Hey, you —um—really don't—think it looks weird?"  
  
Billy drew back just far enough for one of his hazel-green eyes to fill Joey's vision, breathing hard. "Joey, there's _nothing_ about you that looks weird, okay?"  
  
"Got it," Joey whispered, lightly stroking Billy's cheek, afraid the perfection might break. "You, um, don't look weird either. You — _ummm —_make me wish I could—sculpt instead of—paint." Billy was stroking Joey's dick the same way he was stroking Billy's cheek, oh _God_. Joey thought for a second he might pass out.  
  
"Let me know how you like this, all right?" Billy was saying, half under his breath, as if he was too embarrassed to let himself hear it. "I don't know the first thing about jerking anybody off except for m —"  
  
"Your turn," Joey said, guiding Billy's hand away from his hard-on and over to his hipbone, "to shut up."  
  
One more kiss and a bit of shifting around, and Billy caught on just fine. Jerking each other off, yeah, they'd have time for that. Joey stretched his body down the length of Billy's as they kissed, as close as he could get, and hooked one leg around Billy's before using the momentum to throw himself backwards. That part, Joey supposed, was the surprise—for both of them, apparently. He'd been determined to keep his eyes open in order to see Billy's reaction, but all he could think was that Billy was _nowhere_ near as heavy as he should be, and _fuck_ , was _this_ what all those little teaser touches had been adding up to?  
  
"Warm," Joey breathed against Billy's mouth, struggling to keep his breath under control, not to start moving too fast. "Like you've got a fever all the goddamned time."  
  
Billy laughed, but it came out more like a groan. "If I didn't have one before..."  
  
"C'mon," Joey hissed, turning his head sharply to get at Billy's earlobe. "Come _on_."  
  
"For fuck's sake, you didn't warn me you liked to talk —oh Jesus _Christ_."  
  
Fine. No more talking. Joey doubted he could've gotten another string of words out even if he'd wanted to. For all the times he'd heard that dry-humping was lame, he couldn't, at least not at the moment, see the veracity of the claim. Either that or pushiness _was_ his kink, and as long as Billy was pushing, he wasn't going to notice that dry-humping actually sucked. Except, to quote Billy, _Jesus Christ_. It _didn't_. Wasn't there some classier word for it? Something French? Something like, or _not_ like, what Billy was moaning in his ear, and that's about the point at which Joey lost touch with everything except how Billy's spine felt under his hands and the last pathetic thrust he managed before his vision went up in white flame.  
  
"...and I think," Billy was saying, hoarsely, some long, sweat-drenched seconds later, "that I just lost about ten entire seconds of my life. What about you?"  
  
Joey grunted and tried to find the pillow, but it wasn't within easy reach. He swatted Billy's backside with the flat of his hand instead. Curiously satisfying. Maybe that was a kink, too. How the hell was he supposed to know what was a kink and what was just, well, _Billy_?  
  
"Joey, if you don't say something, I'm gonna start to worry," Billy said in his ear, then bit it.  
  
" _Ow_! What the fuck, _weirdo_! Yeah," Joey croaked, losing his fingers in a fistful of Billy's curly hair and giving it a good, hard tug. "The earth moved, _et cetera_. Would you mind explaining to me why going to class is a good idea?"  
  
"Because I'd rather keep this between us and not have to share it in prison?"  
  
"Point," Joey muttered. "Cleaning up our track record and all that. Don't tell me last night's your first _and_ last prank here, though, because that was _brilliant_."  
  
"Are you kidding?" asked Billy, grinning mischievously down at Joey. "I'm just getting started."  
  
"Is that a promise?" countered Joey, softly. He hardened his eyes just a little, hoping Billy wouldn't misinterpret him.  
  
"We're gonna be late," said Billy. His eyes, on the other hand, said _yes_.


End file.
